


when you can't find your tongue and when your rational weeps

by janie_tangerine



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: AND HERE I AM BRINGING YOU A BLAST FROM THE PAST, Alcohol, Biting, Blood Drinking, Bottom Damon Salvatore, HELLO HAVE PORN FOR A FANDOM I HAVEN'T TOUCHED IN YEARS, Human/Vampire Relationship, Idiots in Love, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Season/Series 03, Under-negotiated Everything, Vampire Bites, WHAT AM I EVEN DOING HERE IDK, this is what coronavirus isolation does to you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:21:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23120911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: "I want," he says, moving back, looking straight at him, making sure that he makes his point and trying to sound like he knows what the fuck he's doing here, "to know you give a shit, and I happen to know you well enough to not expect anything more than what you're willing to give me. As long as you don't take me for granted."He hears Damon's sharp intake of breath again as his lips part and looks up at him like no one's ever fucking told him that, and for what he knows either no one has or the last time was a long time ago."So," he goes on, putting a couple of fingers on Damon's kiss-swollen lips, "I'll take your sorry-ass apologies because you meant it, and I'll take the next one because I know you will, and maybe in the next ten years I'll get a proper one out of you, but it's all right. I don't need it now. Or until that's how it comes to you. Now, I'd like to put it behind us, so let's just say that's done and over. You want me to -""Yes," Damon interrupts him at once, leaning up into his hand.Or: in which both Damon and Alaric have a shitload of issues they'd rather not talk about. They make it work differently.
Relationships: Alaric Saltzman/Damon Salvatore
Comments: 27
Kudos: 196
Collections: COWT - Clash Of the Writing Titans/Chronicles Of Words and Trials





	when you can't find your tongue and when your rational weeps

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TotemundTabu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TotemundTabu/gifts).



> ... hello. I haven't watched this dumb show in YEARS and I surely didn't think I'd end up here after eighty-four years, but I have been dragged back into this vampires with issues pit because ao3 user totemundtabu has been catching up with it and I got sucked into remembering how much I loved these two emotionally stunted idiots, he happened to want to read some porn with them, I'm currently stuck in coronavirus quarantine wasteland and I've been writing as much as I could so HERE YOU GO HAVE SOME BLAST FROM THE PAST POST-3x07 PORN for which I hope you'll forgive the fact that I forgot half of the plot because I haven't rewatched S3 in... a long time. But man, did I love these two assholes. <3
> 
> Other than that: I own shit except my ridiculous feelings re damon salvatore and his issues and alaric saltzman and his fucking issues ™️, the title is from the gaslight anthem and I'll leave this here. Have fun I'll saunter back downwards ;)

There are a lot of things Alaric should just stop lying to himself about, first of all presuming that he can actually stay angry at Damon for more than two weeks tops, and that would be a stretch. But - never mind. He'll hold on to pretending that he actually can, or that Damon's sorry-ass apologies don't work with him, for a while longer.

Maybe he should stop lying to himself about the fact that he only ever comes to the boarding house for drinking hours because Damon has better alcohol lying around than the Grill provides, or because he has more comfortable sofas, or -

Yeah, no.

He really needs to stop doing that, because that's not why they always end up here and Damon knows even too much, too. He has to give it to him - he doesn't beat around the bush, when it comes to inviting him over for drinks.

 _Drinks_.

They've stopped trading the same bourbon bottle some time ago, because then Damon's mouth was on his as he dragged Alaric down on top of him on that stupid plush retrò sofa they have downstairs, and Alaric really needs to stop thinking that they're doing _this_ on a thing that's most likely a 19th century original regalia because his professional side is screaming not to, but Damon looks all too happy to... ruin it, he supposes, so - right. He's not going to think about it.

What he's thinking about now... isn't really any of that.

He leans down, kissing bourbon on Damon's tongue, and maybe he should stop being surprised of how easy things always become past this stage, when Damon's pinned down beneath him and not making a move to change the situation and kissing him back lazily but not doing anything more than just follow his lead.

They've done this enough times that Alaric thinks he has him figured out, mostly.

Not that Damon's hard to figure out. Damon is _ridiculously_ easy to figure out, which is why Alaric can't fucking _stay_ angry at him. It should probably be a reason they should maybe talk about this properly, which they really don't, but there's - something about the fact that for all he postures and doesn't talk about shit and can't apologize worth a damn there is no one else Damon invites downstairs for - _drinking parties_.

Which consist of the two of them only.

He breathes in sharply as he breaks the kiss, his hands moving up, grasping Damon's face delicately, and the moment he does Damon just - _sighs_ contentedly, eyes closed, and another time Alaric _would_ have joked about how needy he looks right now, flushed cheeks and relaxing against the pillows like he owns them, which... well, he does, but never mind that. Except that the one time he did joke about that, the first, he had felt Damon go tense at once and then he had realized why he would and he had cursed himself for not thinking twice, and this is the first time it happens after that... well, half-assed _meant_ apology, and so he won't.

He doesn't think he could, either, because at the end of it -

"Shit," he whispers, dropping kisses along the arch of Damon's throat, feeling it hitch under his lips, "I missed this."

"Me, too," Damon slurs, strangely direct, and when he opens up his eyes again his pupils look a bit blown, and he's looking up at him so intently, and you'd never think he was anything but human right now, just by looking at him.

"Huh," Alaric says, moving his hand down to the back of Damon's neck, kissing his unmoving pulse point, "you do know we could have been doing this for the last week or so, don't you?"

He puts effort into sounding casual.

"Guess so," Damon blurts after, and Alaric finds his eyes again, figuring that maybe it's time he says it straight.

"Well," he ghosts against his throat, "next time, just _mean_ your poor apologies before I have to ask for them and no dry spell for either of us."

Damon half-snorts at that, but it's not... his usual pretense-kind of snort.

"Why, you don't want proper ones?" He slurs, and when Alaric moves back up there's a bit more black in those unfairly large damned blue eyes, and if only the asshole wasn't the worst actor in existence when it came to not use them to show you that he actually had way more internal turmoil going on than what he wants people to assume -

Never mind. For another time.

"I want," he says, moving back, looking straight at him, making sure that he makes his point and trying to sound like he knows what the fuck he's doing here, "to know you give a shit, and I happen to know you well enough to not expect anything more than what you're willing to give me. As long as you don't take me for granted."

He hears Damon's sharp intake of breath again as his lips part and looks up at him like no one's ever fucking told him that, and for what he knows either no one has or the last time was a long time ago.

"So," he goes on, putting a couple of fingers on Damon's kiss-swollen lips, "I'll take your sorry-ass apologies _because_ you meant it, and I'll take the next one because I know you will, and maybe in the next ten years I'll get a proper one out of you, but it's all right. I don't need it now. Or until that's how it comes to you. Now, I'd like to put it behind us, so let's just say that's done and over. You want me to -"

" _Yes_ ," Damon interrupts him at once, leaning up into his hand.

"Woah, that was - wait, have you been with anyone else in -"

He shakes his head.

 _What_ -

"'S not as good if it's not you," Damon half-shrugs, for what he can since Alaric is still pinning him down to the sofa. Gods, maybe they should sober up, except that he doubts Damon can even get drunk enough to regret what he's doing and Alaric knows exactly what he's doing, too.

He moves a hand on Damon's belt, undoing it slowly, feeling that he's hard enough under his clothing that those jeans have to feel fucking restricting by now, and so he gets rid of his own trousers before he opens the button and pulls the zipper down and then gets Damon rid of both jeans and underwear, and Damon lets out a breath of relief.

“You need to stop saying shit like this,” he shakes his head, unable to keep the fondness from his tone. “Now I couldn’t stay angry at you if I tried.”

“Good. I don’t want you to be.” Damon just about blurts that in between his shoulder and the pillow, and he barely hears it, and _shit_ , Alaric is going to last embarrassingly little here, if he doesn’t get a grip on what to do with the fact Damon is now looking up at him like he’s goddamn fucking relieved they’re back at their usual and is actually being all sharing and caring for his standards.

“Why, do you think I actually want to be angry at you?” He sighs, then leans down - “Just come here,” he says, moving a hand behind Damon’s shoulders, hauling him closer, never mind that both of them are hard and obviously in dire need to put an end to their dry spells, but - later. Damon gasps against him for a moment before he tentatively holds him back, shuddering when his dick touches Alaric’s, and it’s probably just downright sad that he’s obviously surprised at what Alaric’s just done when he’s never been surprised at most things they’ve done while fucking until now.

Fuck, they have issues.

He supposes he should feel relieved that _he_ is the well-adjusted one in between the two of them. He supposes that a hundred and some years of being around before Alaric was born did Damon no favors, in that sense.

He moves a hand up to Damon’s hair, running his fingers through it, and grins a bit to himself when Damon moans the moment he does it, _loudly_ , and so he does it again, and again, and he feels Damon’s iron grip on his shoulders go a bit slacker, and when he moves back his cheeks are flushing deeper, his eyes brighter, and he’s arching his head back slightly, and then Alaric’s eyes fall to his neck and -

Huh.

He doesn’t think he’s ever dared doing this before.

But.

“Don’t move,” he says, and Damon goes still at once.

 _All right_.

Then he leans down and grasps a bit of pale skin right in between neck and shoulder, bites softly, and Damon curses under his breath and his hips snap upward and Alaric thinks his dick is leaking against his thigh and he hums a moment before biting down _harder_.

Damon moans way, way louder than he’s had until now.

“What,” Alaric says, moving back, “you like that now?”

“Not like you could do anything more than that,” he slurs, and now he sounds like he regrets that Alaric couldn’t.

For -

“Do you want me to?” He asks, and Damon doesn’t - doesn’t say no. Fine, but… no. “A shrug isn’t going to cut it. Do you want me to?”

“What if I do?”

Good grief. He really is some kind of reckless -

Alaric, knowing he will regret it, leans back down, finds his trousers and looks for the small Swiss knife he had in the back pocket, then he moves back on the sofa, and Damon’s eyes go wide when he sees the blade.

But not in fear, no.

The bastard is excited, isn’t he.

“Now,” he says, “I need to you to stay _very_ still, and I don’t care if I can’t kill you with this, you make me accidentally slit your throat and it’s off the table. Got it?”

Damon nods, eyes still so bright and staring up at his, “Got it, got it, get a move on on,” he says, and comes out less steady than he was shooting for, most likely, but - okay. Okay.

He stills.

Alaric leans down, the blade where he can see the ghost of his teeth from before, and then he cuts the skin enough to let a bit of blood flow, nowhere near as much as what happens during a regular bite, and Damon moans again but stays still, and -

Well.

It’s not like drinking vampire blood would do anything except keeping him alive if he happened to not have his ring on when someone tried to kill him anyway, and so he leans down and tries to not think about how fucked up this all his when bites around the cut and drinks.

Now, vampire blood tastes… like blood. To him, at least. He doesn’t know if there’s supposed to be something specifically enchanting about it or not, but it’s just… nothing different than he remembers from the times he put to his mouth a cut finger.

But the moment he swallows Damon’s entire chest starts writhing underneath him even if he’s still trying to not move, and he’s moaning softly and continuously as if this is the best foreplay in existence, and by the time Alaric decides he’s had really enough and moves back, when they lock eyes Damon is staring up at him _that_ way again, like he can’t fucking believe they’re doing this, and Alaric just shakes his head, leans down and kisses him softly, and he’s nowhere near surprised when Damon has no issues licking blood off his lips.

“See that behaving is worth it?” Alaric asks, wanting to make the situation slightly lighter, figuring there’s the need for it —

And Damon’s hips snap upwards, his by now achingly hard dick pressing uncomfortably against Alaric’s stomach, or maybe not so uncomfortably, and suddenly Alaric _sees_ it, and no, shit, they really should talk about this if they want to go there, but Damon is in no way going to _talk_ now, and holyfuckwhycanttheydoanythingproperly, that’s what he’d like to know, but — never mind. He has a feeling proper isn’t a word that Damon knows from Adam.

“And how about,” Alaric says, “I let you bite me if you can be good for me for the next what, ten minutes?”

Damon about whines. Very shamelessly.

Holy fuck. He’s not going to reach for the alcohol now.

“No moving,” Alaric says, “and you don’t come until I say. You can keep your hands on my head, otherwise right where they are.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer and moves back on the sofa and takes Damon’s cock in his mouth, and he’s pretty proud of himself when he manages to do it in one go, but hey, they did have practice. Damon screams his name but doesn’t move, and no hands reach for him, and _fuck_ but he gets harder the moment he starts sucking slowly, because he’s not going to make this hard and fast and easy, and it’s not long before Damon is writhing under him, trying to stay still at all costs, and Alaric has spit and precome all over his chin at this point but he can’t give less of a fuck, and he can feel how close he is, and still that he’s holding back, and he’d lie if he said it didn’t thrill him a tiny bit -

He moves back, and Damon whines again, but says nothing -

“Whenever you like,” Alaric says, “ _after_ have another go at you.” He sucks him into his mouth again and Damon comes moments later and Alaric’s mouth is all salt as he swallows and swallows, not moving until Damon’s spent and trembling ever so slightly for how strong it was — Alaric leans up, wiping his chin. His palm comes away smeared in red. He’s also so hard it’s borderline painful, but there’s no lube here — next time he’ll wait until they’re on a bed. Still —

“So good,” he says, his hand going to Damon’s face, and he’s rewarded with a small sigh as Damon leans into his palm, his eyes closed. “Now I think you should make me come, _then_ you can have that bite. Can you?”

“Please,” Damon blurts, not even trying to sound sassy _now_ , “yes, _yes_ , I —”

“Patience,” Alaric says, putting his hands on Damon’s shoulders, pushing him down into the cushions, moving his legs so that his dick is right above Damon’s mouth, “ _now_ you can go for it.”

He honestly hopes he’ll be able to hold on a bit, because it would be a total waste of time if he came just after Damon put that unfairly pretty mouth of his on him, but Damon starts slow, taking him in without a hurry, and when he starts sucking him off he doesn’t try to hurry it up — shit, you can _feel_ that he’s actually enjoying it, and then Alaric figures that by now he’s entirely beyond the whole we should have talked about it before spiel, and so —

He reaches down, grasping at Damon’s hair, but he doesn’t tug nor push, just cards his fingers through it slowly.

“Fuck, you’re so good at this,” he says, and Damon moans around his dick, and fuck, he won’t last much longer like this. “You’re taking it so well,” he keeps on, “next time I’m definitely fucking you properly, but now — oh, yes, _good_ , perfect, _harder_ —”

Damon immediately sucks harder.

Alaric about can’t physically handle it anymore and comes into his mouth in a rush, his blood flowing so hot it might be scorching him from the inside at this point, and Damon doesn’t move an inch and oh righthedoesn’tneedtobreathe does he, his hands still on Alaric’s thighs, and when he finally pulls out, Damon’s face is a worst mess than his own had been, most likely, but he’s also looking up at him with wide eyes and slightly parted lips and like this is the best day he’s had in the last fifty years at least, and Alaric can’t help reaching down and cupping his face, cleaning his chin off with the thumb of his free hand.

The way Damon closes his eyes and presses up against his palm all over again is going to be what fucking kills him, one day.

He leans forward, kisses him briefly, then moves back.

“Told you you’d get that reward if you were good,” he half-smiles, and Damon opens his eyes again, staring at his neck, and —

“You don’t have to,” he finally says, voice rough, but Alaric shakes his head, moves a bit closer.

“I like to keep my promises. But it’s on _my_ terms. You bite when I say it, you go slow and you move away before I have to lie down in bed for a day. Got it?”

“Yes,” Damon nods.

“ _Good_.” He shudders again. Alaric really should talk to him about this, then remembers that it’s entirely likely that no one’s told Damon anything like that since the fucking Civil War, probably, at best, and decides that maybe they really don’t need to talk about _this_ specifically. He grips the back of Damon’s head, leading him towards the hollow of his neck, until his lips are right against his skin, then cards his fingers through Damon’s hair again, and _again_ , and then — “Come on,” he says, “you’ve done great, now take it, _go_ ,” and a moment later Damon has sighed and bitten him, and for a moment it’s all sharp teeth and a moment of pain, but then it ebbs away and Alaric’s own blood rushes hot all over again as Damon drinks from the bite, but — slow. Barely, for that matter — he’s not looking to make it deeper or taking more than what’s trickling out, and he’s more licking at it with his tongue than straight-up feeding. It’s — weird, but in the good way. It’s also intimate in a way that makes his stomach clench, and shit, he really is in this too deep to even think about walking away, isn’t he, but then Damon moves away with a sigh, and Alaric doesn’t even think he’ll need to put a bandage on that bite for how shallow it is. He looks at Damon instead, at his mouth smeared in _his_ blood, at how he’s looking at Alaric like — he wants to say _like he has just given him the fuck of his life_ , but that’d be a lie. It’s more than that, and neither of them are up to discuss it, most likely, especially not now.

“Look at it,” he finally says, “that actually felt nice. We could do it again.”

“… We could?” Damon asks, sounding hopeful. Alaric resists the urge to roll his eyes.

“Yeah, we could, and we’ll need to talk about it at some point, but — never mind. Come on, get over here already.”

Damon goes, sighing in relief when Alaric’s arm wraps around his chest, pressing him to Alaric’s back for a moment, but then he turns over on himself and moves forward, his face into the crook of Alaric’s neck, right where the already closed bite is, nuzzling into it.

Alaric says nothing and starts petting his hair again and tells him he’s been perfect and says it again when Damon shudders against him, grasping to his side tighter, and moreso when Alaric wins over all his instincts telling him not to and kisses Damon’s forehead before holding him closer.

He’s not going to lie to himself about how this is in no fucking way casual sex between friends needing to get off anymore.

And they have to talk about it. Soon.

But not right now.

End.


End file.
